Today Chad and I drove across the wide open spaces of our part of Texas, sometimes chatting amiably, sometimes watching the scenery go by in silence. He spent time listening to speculation about his beloved Dallas Cowboys on sports radio while I dozed in the passenger seat. And at one point we spent a few minutes thinking and talking about our life and the interesting turns it has taken through the years. We never knew that we would wind up here, twenty years into our marriage, happily answering God’s call in our little town. Yet, here we are. God has been so gracious to bring us here where life is simple. The commute to anywhere in our town is four minutes. Trips to our local grocery store are bound to take awhile because there will be friends inside to talk to. Our world doesn’t revolve around money or cars, fashion or fancy houses. Our life here is beautiful and small and unique.

There is a certain simplicity to it. Yet, through the years we have learned just how complicated a pastor’s calling really is.

As people, Chad and I are irrevocably intertwined with others. We are likely to hear deep, dark secrets which we hold close, not even allowed to share many things with each other. We are entrusted with some of people’s most delicate admissions and live through some of their darkest hours with them. Our life is simple in so many ways. Yet, our life is about people, and people are anything but simple. We are complicated creatures filled with all kinds of surprising and delightful and shocking and sad secrets. Every room is at the same time a crowded collection of interpersonal struggles and warm friendships, family strife and sin struggles and amazing examples of God’s grace and mercy. As a pastor’s family, we get a front row seat to all of it.

I have seen Chad carry the heavy burden of failing marriages and sudden deaths, of children with no heat in the dead of winter. I have seen him try to be the ultimate problem solver while problem after problem is laid before him. I have heard his prayers for the many people on his heart and mind at midnight when he should be sleeping.

And while all of this is going on, still he wrestles with his own spiritual battles. Still he studies and tries to flee temptation and undertakes the difficult task of dealing with difficult people, precious people, kind people, and mean people, all while begging the Holy Spirit to keep him from sin. To give him the mind and eyes of Christ. Still he feels the weight of his next sermon, always bearing down no matter what else is happening in his life or the lives of those who need him at any given time.

These aren’t things that pastors can really talk about with the rest of us. They carry a unique load, and one that isn’t easily understood by those of us who don’t bear their responsibilities. It’s a complicated calling.

Chad and I thank God every day for this simple, complicated life. We thank Him for the complicated people who have been entrusted to our care, and we thank Him for the simple message of the gospel, which can cut through the most complicated of circumstances. One thing we have learned in these pastoring years is that every complicated situation really comes down to just one thing: we all need Jesus. Watching Him work in the middle of even the most difficult and crazy circumstances proves it to us over and over again–Jesus is the real problem solver. A simple truth for a complicated calling.

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It’s become an annual tradition to compile a list of the most popular posts from my blog in the past year. It’s always interesting to see which posts get passed around the internet. I hope these posts were helpful to readers, made some people think, and most importantly, glorified Jesus. Thanks so much for reading and for sharing my stuff!

I’ll also be doing a post of my personal favorite posts of the year. Watch for that in the next few days!

Let Your Pastor’s Wife Be HerselfThis one struck a chord with many of you, which tells me that there are some unrealistic expectations being put on some pastor’s wives out there. One thing our church has taught me is the importance of allowing your pastor’s wife to do ministry in the ways that best suit her gifts and personality.

For the Ordinary WomenWhen a little cashier at the dollar store reminded me that ordinary women are beautiful, too.

The God of the Hurricane
2017 was a rough year for many in Texas. This post tells one of the most heart-breaking stories that emerged from Hurricane Harvey. It also drops some truth about the mighty God that we serve.

When Women March in the Wrong Direction
This post was inspired by the women’s march back in January. There are so many things that baffle me about modern feminism. Here are just a couple of things that I don’t get about it.

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The wedding ceremony was going to start in five minutes, and Chad and I were in his office, trying to quickly hash out an argument we had been stewing over since the night before. It was going to be difficult for him, the pastor, to go out there and deliver an inspiring wedding day talk if his own wife was glaring at him from the audience.

We hate fighting. We both apologized and I rested my cheek on his as we stood there in a familiar embrace, both really unsure how to resolve the situation except to just get over it. We agreed that we would, and we parted ways, still awkwardly upset, but determined to put it behind us.

By the time I gathered our kids and found my spot in the sanctuary, most of the wedding guests were already in their places. A side door opened, and in walked the groom and his groomsmen. Chad led them to their places, and as the wedding music started, he turned to look at me, and he grinned.

It was a grin that saw the humor in the fact that we had been arguing in his office two minutes earlier. That here, at a beautiful ceremony that celebrates love and thanks God for marriage, we were living proof that marriage will sometimes cause you to waste a whole day being angry at the person you love most. And, it was also a grin that knew that everything is really okay.

I’m thankful for a life in pastoral ministry. Many couples can go weeks or months or even years without ever facing the ways that they are sinning against each other. But, a pastor and his wife always have a Sunday morning or a Sunday evening or a Wednesday night coming. They always have a wedding ceremony or a funeral to prepare for. There is always a close and important reminder that we are trying to live according to God’s word. And, there is always an urgency to figure things out, to be friends, to rely on each other and to spur each other on to holiness and godliness.

After the wedding, we decided to load up the kids and take the minivan to a neighboring town for tacos. Chad reached over and grabbed my hand. We didn’t have to hash things out any longer. We had said what needed to be said in those rushed moments in his office. We had been heard. We had been forced to face the issues. And, we had been reminded, when we heard wedding vows repeated with happy tears, what a gift from God that this life really is.

I thank God that He gives us so many checkpoints along our path in ministry. Every sermon, every teaching, every ceremony–they all help us remember that we want to live what we are saying. God is always working, even two minutes before the wedding starts. And, I’m grateful.

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Today I’m hanging out with my Baptist friends over at the BGCT ministers’ wives blog. I’m talking about some valuable lessons I’ve learned about conflict in the ministry:

Before my husband was a pastor, I had my ideas about pastors’ wives. I figured they were more spiritual than the average person. That they were better at dealing with conflict. That they had some sort of secret, Holy Spirit infused wisdom that gave them the ability to know what to say, and when and how to say it.

Then my husband stepped foot in the pulpit on his very first Sunday.

I sat there in my designated spot on the front row, knowing without a doubt that I was no more wise or spiritual or in tune with God’s people than I had been the week before. Yet, there I sat, “The Pastor’s Wife,” and I knew there was a room full of people sitting right behind me who had their own sets of expectations and hopes and plans for me. It was terrifying. I almost felt like someone should revoke my pastor’s wife card. I wanted to tell someone, You don’t understand. I can’t cook. I’m always late. Chances are my kids are wearing mismatched socks….Click here to keep reading.

I’m a mere two years into the whole pastor’s wife thing. I have spent the majority of my adult life as a church member, serving where I could, being served and ministered to by the church, and making wonderful relationships within the congregations we’ve been a part of.

Then, one day I woke up, and it was Sunday, and my husband was the one standing behind the pulpit.

I felt no different. I had no miraculous transformation into a more dynamic or Christ-like person. Yet, here I was, sitting on the front row while the man I sleep next to preached God’s word to me. It was a strange day, that first Sunday. I had inadvertently earned a sort of round-about title due to my husband’s profession, yet I was still just myself, struggling in the same areas, being too quiet when I should talk, saying too much when I should listen, snapping at the kids on a day when I should be extra patient, forgetting everyone’s names during the greeting time. I was as ordinary as ever. As imperfect as ever. I felt exactly the same as I always had.

I still do.

That’s not to say that I haven’t grown in my faith in these years. I think I have. I have changed, as time changes all of us. But, I have not become more like a pastor’s wife. Whatever that gleaming, golden image is that people tend to hold up as the ultimate pastor’s wife, I am not her. And, the truth is that almost no pastors’ wives are her. Everyone has her own personality, own set of strengths and weaknesses, own unique circumstances, own ideas and ways of doing things.

The truth is that becoming a pastor’s wife is not a sudden cure for our less desirable personality traits. And, it isn’t an instant sanitizer to get rid of all of our sin issues. Yet, I have realized that this is what I always expected of my pastors’ wives. I criticized them (behind closed doors) for what I saw as personality flaws. I held them to a standard that I didn’t feel that I was called to maintain. And, I was unfair in my expectations that they should do things the way I thought best.

God, forgive me. Sweet sisters, forgive me.

Because now I know. Two years into this gig, I finally get it. There is no instant holiness or friendliness or greatness or charm that comes with stepping into the role of pastor’s wife. The truth is that pastors’ wives struggle with many of the same inferiority complexes, stresses, worries, weaknesses, and emotions as anyone else. And, I don’t know why I expected my pastors’ wives to be above all of that. I was attached to that golden idol that I had built in my head that said that my pastor’s wife should be doing this or that for me. I wish instead that I had thought of ways to minister to her, like the wonderful women at our church do.

I have learned so much by watching their stunning example–they have loved me from the start, for exactly who I am. There were no golden images to tear down. They see me as an imperfect human being in a unique position who needs friendship, support, and love. I only wish I had been so Christ-like toward my own pastors’ wives through the years.

Please remember this about that woman who is sitting on the front row on Sunday, the one who sleeps next to your pastor. She has a strange calling that is difficult to define. Allow her to fulfill her role in a way that suits her personality. Reach out to her. Be a loyal friend to her. And, don’t put her up on some lonely pedestal to waste away under critical eyes. Thank you to my church family for showing me how happy and fun and exciting being a pastor’s wife can be, if only she has sisters who walk with her. And, thank you to my former pastors’ wives for loving me despite my unrealistic expectations and selfish notions of who you should be. I still have so much to learn.

Be patient with me, church. God is working everywhere–even on the front row.

Today Chad and I were asked to sing at a funeral. We had just gone to the nursing home to sing to this sweet lady a few weeks ago, and on Friday night she finally learned the mysteries of a new existence in the presence of the Lord.

I was nervous. Singing at funerals can be nerve-wracking because of the emotions and the quietness in the room. On our way there, I asked Adelade to pray for me. I don’t know that I have ever really done that before, asked one of my children to intercede for me. But, she didn’t miss a beat. She said, sure, and started praying. She prayed that God would calm my nerves. That He would help Chad and me to do a good job. And then she prayed for the grieving family: God, please help them not to cry too much, because we know that she went to Heaven and Heaven is way better than this place.

She said amen and continued the debate she was having with her brother in the backseat. But, I couldn’t stop thinking about what she had prayed. …and Heaven is way better than this place. This, coming from a child who lives an easier, more carefree, more pleasant life than the majority of the world’s population of children. This, from a little girl who has everything she needs, a loving family, great friends, and plenty of laughter in her life. This, from a nine year old who has never worked a day in her life, has never wondered where her next meal was coming from or if her parents were going to leave her.

Basically, Adelade has an incredible life. Her existence in “this place” is pretty phenomenal. She is happy. She loves her life. Yet, here she is, baby in the faith, completely trusting in God’s promise that Heaven is so much better.

And, just like that, a nine year old’s prayer increased her mother’s faith.

The funeral was really beautiful, and when we sang, I could feel the effects of Adelade’s simple words. The precious lady was honored well by those who love her. And, I didn’t feel so nervous. My eyes were fixed Heavenward, and my heart was replaying the memory of a child’s prayer in the backseat.

I saw two faiths on display today. One, a faith that endured the loss of two children and a husband, a faith that sustained through grief and hard times and loneliness and illness. A faith that persevered until the very end of life on earth. The other faith that I saw today, well, it is new and shiny and hasn’t endured much yet. But, when Jesus told us to have childlike faith, maybe He was telling us that our faith, even at 87 years old, when we have seen and endured so much, should be just as shiny and new as the nine year old’s in the backseat on the fourth day of summer.

Today I’m grateful for both examples. I saw His “way better” in a flower-filled funeral parlor and in the backseat of a kid-filled minivan. He is good.

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When we first moved into our new house, the new pastor and his family, Sawyer drew a picture. It was me, in our huge beautiful kitchen, wearing an apron, making a cherry pie. He drew this sweet portrait despite the fact that I have never made a cherry pie in my life. In fact, Sawyer has probably never seen me make a pie of any kind. And he has definitely never seen me wear an apron. But, it seems that in his precious five year old way he believes that making cherry pies is what pastors’ wives do. And, you had better believe that as soon as he showed me his picture I started searching for a cherry pie recipe because I’m always looking for some way to impress my little people. If a cherry pie does it, just call me Betty Crocker.

Sawyer has expectations of the pastor’s wife. And so do many others, I’m sure. Pastors wives should be gracious, always loving, always hospitable, always encouraging, and always spiritually minded, we imagine. But, the truth is that pastors and their wives are imperfect people. And if we claim they will ALWAYS do the absolute best thing, we may as well be drawing an imaginary picture of me in the kitchen.

So, here I am, two weeks into my first foray as a pastor’s wife, and I don’t feel any different. No, I didn’t suddenly become more spiritual. I didn’t hear a choir of angels singing on Chad’s first Sunday in the pulpit. I haven’t learned how to dress myself better or how to stop worrying. I didn’t wake up that first Sunday suddenly more in tune with my husband, my friends, my children, or my fellow Christians.

The truth is I am no different today than I was two weeks ago. I’m still desperately in need of God’s help, His grace, and His wisdom. I’m still unsure of myself, too quick to speak when I should be quiet, too proud, and too anxious. I still worry that I’m mothering too much or not mothering enough. I still cry over dumb TV shows and laugh at inappropriate times. And I still haven’t learned to cook.

I make lots of mistakes. I need a Savior every single day.

Weak. That’s me. I’m the poster child for God-can-use-anybody.

And I am a pastor’s wife.

I’m so thankful for gracious people. For sweet goodbyes and welcoming arms and for all the things God works out while we’re worrying about something else. We can all just be real and admit that we don’t have it together. Weakness is human, and we are so human. But, we serve a God who is Everything. Whatever, we lack, He is. He fills in the gaps. He make us whole. He completes the package.

So, cherry pies and aprons are in my future. May I seek to please my Savior the way I seek to please my sweet blue-eyed boy. God deserves our best. He imagines what we could never see ourselves being, and then He clears a path to make it possible. After all, I am a pastor’s wife, and I am a cherry pie baker. So let it be.

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About Melissa

My husband Chad and I have been married for 19 years, and we have had all kinds of adventures, from our days in Music City with his rock band, to teaching junior high school in classrooms right next door to each other, to law school and the attorney life, to incredible years watching God work in churches where we have served…